Communication

She has been living in harmony for some time now. All for one, and one for all.

And then, the fall.


The Narrator says...

It's raining outside. She can hear the rain on the sliding door.  It always rains on the sad days, she thinks.  The sound of the raindrops on the glass door fill her ears, and for a second she thinks of running outside to soak herself in it, like she did when she was little. But she knows it's not that simple anymore.

She looks up, and around the room frantically, looking for anyone who knows what to do.

" Please! What do I do?" The tears well up in her eyes, and she knows the great collapse is inevitable. "I will do whatever you tell me, please!"

Sparky sits on the couch, flipping through channels at a rapid pace. Casually, their eyes meet, and a smirk crawls across Sparky's lips. Or is it a grimace? (It can be almost impossible to tell the difference sometimes.) With a look of practiced innocence, Sparky shrugs her shoulders, and pouts, damming herself.

The guilt overwhelms her, and she begins to cry out, " Nina, please help me! Make this pain stop, give me something to look forward to!' She begs Nina with her eyes, hoping her stare will burn through the music blaring in Nina's headphones as she is crouched in the corner by the sliding door. Nina only continues to nod her head rhythmically, softly humming something that sounds like a Ray Manzarek tune, and doesn't look up. She wants to be where Nina is. She feels so left behind.

In a moment of pure desperation, she looks to Susie standing by the hallway. " Just tell me what to do and I'll do it! How do I fix this? How do I make it okay? I didn't mean for it to happen this way. Please, tell me how I make this okay!" The tears are running down her cheeks now, and there is no going back.

 Susie only scoffs and looks away in pure disgust, turns away and walks down the dark hallway. Out of sight.

Her cry is deafening. Her sobs invade every cell in her body, overtaking her. She falls to her knees, hoping she'll shatter. Hoping she'll break apart, painfully, but unsalvageably.

Searching for the sound of the rain to drown her out, she tries to hush herself enough to listen for it, but to no avail. Louder and louder, her sobs grow. With each heave of her chest, she releases a  wail unlike any she has ever heard. And lying at the very bottom of the sound, lurking down by her diaphragm, fueling each wind, is Persy. She just knows it.

"You are alone and you are dammed. And you did this to yourself," Persy sings, lining each desperate cry with it.

She screams, "No!" It reverberates against every wall and comes  barreling right back at her, punching her in the gut. She buries her face in her hands and holds her breath, waiting. For death? For life? For mercy?

The sound of the rain returns, as it begins to pour outside. She exhales slowly, and is relieved when only tears accompany it. Her screaming has died, but she's still afraid to open her eyes. What if the real world is still there? She smashes her hands even harder into her cheeks, soaking them in tears.

Out of the darkness of her despair, she feels a hand begin to softly caress her hair, twirling it a bit in their fingers at the end.

"Hush, little baby, don't say a word."

Lacey kneels down in front of her slowly, and the sound of her knees cracking echo in the room.

She doesn't take her hands away from her face, she doesn't want to look, and Lacey just places her hands over them. "Isn't it just like you to turn me away till tomorrow becomes today..."

"I'm sorry," she whispers. And she really is to hear Lacey's alliterations again. She is so sorry for all of it. She's the sorriest sight in the world tonight.

Lacey tightens her grip and pulls her hands violently away from her face. They stare at each other electrically; fear, desire, and bestial determination pass between their eyes.

"I said shut the fuck up, baby." Lacey grabs her, grasping the back of her hair tightly and kisses her passionately, like a lover who has been lost for far too long.

Lightning fills the sky with a fierce white. Nina feels it and looks up with a quick gasp. And she begins to sing, because what else is there to do?

"People are strange...

When you're a stranger

Faces look ugly

When you're alone

Women seem wicked

When you're unwanted

Streets are uneven

When you're down

When you're strange...

Faces come out of the rain

When you're strange

No one remembers your name

When you're strange

When you're strange

When you're strange..."

She Craves Lemon Pie III

Sparky says...

I hate it when he makes me feel like shit. He knows exactly how to. And I'd like to think he doesn't mean it. But he does. He is too smart not to.

Then again, I am too smart to let him continue to hurt me. Or to be all that offended anymore.

I suppose my heart will always break at least a little for him. He counts on it. And so do I.

Call it our sick and twisted way of still being together without actually being together.

Persy says...

Oh you poor little baby

Saving all your stupid tears for a moment that will matter

It will never matter

Get over it

You are inching closer to the blade

Try as you might to satisfy the urge

With booze and ciguarettes...

It will never satitate

A slow ache is no substitute

For quick and sharp penetration

Penetrate

Penetrate

Penetrate...

Pretty, pretty please

Punk II

Amanda says...

I hate today. I hate this whole week. And there is no getting around it either, that's the kicker. I wish I could just hit the fast forward button; next week please! I can't help it either. I try so hard not to remember the date. But once I look at the calendar, all the negative thoughts start rolling in. I can't stop those either, anymore than I can stop June from having a third... or a fourth, fifth, sixth... Though I secretly hope that someday I can.

More than anything I wish I could cut it all away. Remove it. Erase the significance from my memory. I would rather be bored right now, a clean slate. Free of the ghosts.

The date feels stained, just like I feel stained. Used already, reserved. Tainted.

I miss feeling whole. Like a real person.

I hate remembering the things I may never get back.

Persy says...

Did someone say cut?

I dare you to try

Maybe you really can make it all go away

Go on, give it a whirl

Attempt to carve it away

I'll cheer you on

So you won't be alone

I bet you can do it

Just pick up the blade

And see what happens

...I won't tell a soul.

The Child is Gone

The Narrator says...

When the going gets tough, the tough get going. If you keep your mind and body preoccupied with meaningful things, the meaningless tribulations of our lives that we cannot control become just that. And vice versa.

Susie says...

I find myself in the zone lately. I'm on an upswing, and I'm still climbing. I'm focused.

I am good at my job when I want to be. I have phenomenal people skills and a ridiculous abundance of patience. I can be quite impressive, in my own way, when I want to be. It really comes down to doing good work and sucking up to the right people. Both of which come naturally to me when I'm motivated.

I am oh so motivated lately. It's not like I know where I'm going. I only know that anywhere is better than here. That is plenty motivation for me.

I think I could find meaning in my job someday. Perhaps if I became one of the people who overlooked ADA matters for the company. Help the handicapped take vacations and such. I think I would like that. And who is to say it's a far-fetched idea?

By staying busy with my job, I've stayed busy with my other projects as well. The extra room in the apartment is now painted a vibrant green (the color is called "center stage") and I am slowly collecting furniture and such for it. I bought a vintage, decorative end table that is almost exactly the same color of green at a second-hand shop. And to go on top of it... a beautiful, heavy, black typewriter. My prediction is it dates back to the 30's or 40's. I saw it and I knew it was mine.

The kitchen is finally finished too. I didn't think I would like having a tin back splash at first, but I do. It seems to fit.

The next project is the broken mirror.

Persy says...

You are such a slut. Go on... lick every rung of the corporate ladder with lust. Sell that soul of sunshine for sweet, sinful success. See if I sweat it.

We both know you cant board up the bitterness forever. There isn't a hole hollow enough to hide your horrors. They will always haunt you.

I like listening to the tick-tock of your clock anyways. The creep of your count-down comforts me. Soon enough you will be a shit show worth seeing. I promise.

A Day

Sparky says...

I knew a man once, named Romeo. A beautiful name for a beautiful boy. A cocky man. If you had any question about how amazing he was, all you need do was ask him and he would tell you all about it.

He was a bouncer at the only bar I frequented back then. I will never forget the first time I met him. I scooted past him in the bar's the parking lot. He yelled out. "So what does it take to get a ride on that thing?"

"Buy me a drink," I said.

"That easy, huh? I wonder what it takes to get you into bed." He said it easily, staring right at me. No other man had ever been so daring, sure, and sincere with me. Not to mention such an asshole.

That was it. He had hooked me. It was delicious in the most pathetic way.

One night, we were sitting on my porch drinking some beers together. This was before we had slept together, mind you. (The game was far too fun to give in quickly.) He was a lot more drunk than I was, meaning he was more prone to going off on tangents. Suddenly, he started in on one about his father. His father was in a wheelchair and Romeo spent a good deal of time looking after him. I wish I could remember why he was in a wheelchair. A war wound, maybe?

"You know, I let my dad get away with so much shit. I seriously let him be as mean as he wants to me. And he is a son-of-a-bitch. But it's just the way things are. It's the right thing to do. There will be days when I look over at him and can tell something is wrong. But when I ask him what's bothering him, all I get from him is 'I'm just having a day.' That's it, he won't say anymore."

I sat there quietly waiting for him to get to the point, because I knew he would eventually. I was rather enjoying this tangent, anyways.

"So one day I asked him, 'Dad, what the hell does that mean?' And he looked at me, with the scariest smile on his face, and he said, 'You ever have one of those days where things go wrong. All things that can't be fixed no matter what. A day where Jesus just seems to hate you for no good reason. Well, those are called days.' " He said it with a little smirk on his face I can only imagine he got from his dad and he continued.

"So, I said to him, 'Dad, those are called bad days.' And he actually laughed at me and said, 'Not when you are me. When you are me, those are just called days.' "

He took another swig of his beer, all the while looking me in the eye. I didn't say anything. I didn't need to. We both knew it was something he had always wanted to talk about with someone, because it was important to him. Because he loved his father. But it was something that most people could never fully understand. I understood, though. It made more sense to me than anything else I had ever heard before.

Ladies and gentleman, I'm having a day. I had one yesterday and I will probably have one tomorrow too. They are starting to exhaust me.

Persy says...

Poor little princess.

You're such a pussy.

Either give in or get on with it. Go go go...

Don't act like you're not dreaming of your own destruction.

(...your delicate and delayed demise.)

The further and faster you run, the further and faster you fall.

Are you dizzy, darling?

Or do I need to run 'round raging some more.

Trial, tribulation, triumph... Trial, tribulation, triumph... Trial, tribulation, triumph...

Do it, already. We all know you will in end, anyways.

Communication

The Narrator says...

To titillate the imagination, I present to you a dream...


Upon an empty stage Sparky sits in front of a microphone. She stares out at the empty seats on the prowl for a set of mysterious eyes she knows she won't find, but still fears are there. With the coast clear, she takes the microphone off its stand and sits very still. She puts her head down with a sigh and closes her eyes. She's waiting, patiently. She's not sure what for yet, but it will come to her.

Like a ninja Nina sneaks up behind her and whispers in her ear, "Whatcha thinkin' about?"

Sparky opens her eyes slowly but doesn't turn around, seemingly undisturbed by Nina's surprise presence. "I don't know. I just don't know."

Now whispering in the other ear she says. "Don't think then. Just go."

That was it! Sparky knew it. Just like that a beat started up. And Sparky began to sway with it, the breaks of her scooter squeaking back and forth quietly. Then she began to bump with it. And from her mouth sprouted something unexpected... but perfect. She always knew there was a reason she harbored a disgusting crush for Marshal Mathers.

"There's no escaping
There's no place to hide
You scream, "Someone save me!"
But they don't pay no mind
Goodbye

You're walkin' down a horror corridor
It's almost 4 in the mornin' and your in a...
Nightmare it's horrible
Right there's the coroner
Waitin' for you to turn the corner so he can corner ya'
You're a goner, he's on to ya'
Out the corner of his cornea, he just saw you run
All you want is to rest cause you can't run anymore, you're done
All he wants is to kill you in front of an audience
While everybody is watching in the party, applauding it
Here I sit while I'm caught up in deep thought again
Contemplating my next plot again
Swallowing the Calotapin
While I'm nodding in and out on the ottoman
At the Ramada Inn holding onto the pill bottle then
Lick my finger and swirl it round the bottom
And make sure I got all of it
Wake up naked at McDonald's with blood all over me
Dead bodies behind the counter, shit
Guess I must've just blacked out again
Not again

It's 3 A.M. in the morning
Put my key in the door and
Bodies laying all over the floor and...
I don't remember how they got there
But I guess I must've killed em' (Killed em')

Sitting nude in my living room
It's almost noon
I wonder what's on the tube
Maybe they'll show some boobs
Surfing every channel until I find Hannah Montana
Then I reach for the aloe and lanolin
Bust all over the wall paneling
Dismantling every candle on top of the fire place mantle and...
Grab my flannel and my bandanna then...
Kiss the naked mannequin man again
You can see him standing in my front window, if you look in
I'm just a hooligan who's used to using hallucinogens
Causing illusions again
Brain contusions again
Cutting and bruising the skin
Razors, scissors, and pins
Jesus, When does it end?
Phases that I go through
Dazed and I'm so confused
Days that I don't know who
Gave these molecules to
Me, what am I gonna do
Hey, the prodigal son
The godfather for one
Very methodical when I slaughter them

It's 3 A.M. in the morning
Put my key in the door and
Bodies laying all over the floor and...
I don't remember how they got there
But I guess I must've killed em' (Killed em')

She puts the lotion in the bucket
It puts the lotion on the skin
Or else it gets the hose again

I cut and I slash slice and gash
Last night was a blast
I can't quite remember when I had that
Much fun off a half-pint of a Jack
My last vic and a half
A flashlight up Kim Kardashian's ass
I remember the first time I dismembered a family member
December, I think it was
I was having drinks with my cousin
I wrapped him in Christmas lights
Pushed him into the stinking tub
Cut him up into pieces and just when I went to drink his blood
I thought I oughta' drink his bathwater that oughta' be fun
That's when my days of serial murder manslaughter begun
The sight of blood excites me, that might be an artery son
Your blood curdling screams just don't seem to bother me none
It's 3 A.M. and here I come so you should probably run
A secret passageway around here, man, There's got to be one
Oh no there's probably none
He can scream all that he wants
Top of his lungs
But ain't no stopping me from chopping him up (up)

It's 3 A.M. in the morning
Put my key in the door and
Bodies laying all over the floor and...
I don't remember how they got there
But I guess I must've killed em' (Killed em')"

As the music begins to fade, Sparky smiles. She feels absolutely ridiculous. When the silence sets in, a solitary applause arises from the back row. She laughs without looking. She knows. A few moments later she raises her eyes to Persy's, staring her down. The clapping stops.

Sparky slowly stands up and puts the microphone back on its stand. She carefully leans forward on her scooter and takes her bow. As she turns to head off stage, she hears whispering again in her ear. It shocks her.

"You make the perfect little play thing, princess. A jubilant jester, indeed. My merry monkey. Dance, darling. DANCE!"

...The scene fades to black in a dramatic fashion! The end.

Pissy

Persy says...

Oh you poor little princess

Did things not go according to plan?

Such a pity

What did you expect, pumpkin?

Don't look for meaning in play

Did you really expect him to make you feel pretty?

Pathetic!

Promises promises...

...pliable little promises

Bend the rules

Amend the law

Pretend it's not all you're pondering

Pretend you aren't picturing it

Pretend you aren't pining to see your reflection in that blade

Pretend you don't want the pleasure

Pretend you don't crave the pain

Pussy!

Look at you

You let everyone else hurt you

But you won't hurt yourself

Why should they get all the fun?

Play that music louder

We all know it won't penetrate

Not like it will

You probably wont do it

Pansy!

Just pound away

Pound pound pound away

Please, Not Yet

Nina says...

Only Wumpscut is loud enough for me today.


Sparky says...

Weight. It's always been a huge issue for me. It's always been a huge issue for my whole family.

Growing up I would say alcoholism and drug addiction was the first problem, but it was followed very closely and with just as much gusto by the weight topic. Throughout my life my father has bounced back and forth between 175 lbs to upwards of 300 lbs. I even suspect that he first started using cocaine, which would eventually lead to one of his downfalls, as a means to lose weight. His depression would set in, and he would eat to cope, since he couldn't use drugs anymore. Then as he would gain more weight, he would get more depressed, he would eat more, and so on. Until finally he would reach a breaking point where he would decided enough is enough, and turn to some radical diet or supposed miracle supplement (years ago he was one of the people who fell into the whole Fen-Phen debacle, losing a dramatic 200 lbs). All of this of course was to no avail, since the radical weight loss is simply what starts the whole cycle over again.

And then there is my mother. A woman who has never felt beautiful enough. She had/has has an eating disorder my life. She wouldn't eat anything at all, or if she did, she would either over-exercise or "feel sick" shortly after a meal. Growing up, my father had to practically be a drill sergeant about her eating habits, making damn certain she was eating, what she was eating, how much she was eating, when she was eating, and so forth. If he didn't do it, she wouldn't. I was often my father's spy. He would come home from work and ask for the daily report on my mother. I thought this was normal for a long time, just assuming that's the way things worked. When I was 10 I caught my mother throwing up behind a locked door. I panicked, thinking only that mommy is sick and I can't get to her! When she came out of the bathroom she sat me down, looked me in the eye, and said, "I was only sick. Okay? I was just sick and I am better now. Okay?" She stopped throwing up after that night. Her hands no longer smelled like vomit all the time, and she would actually stick around for conversation when dinner was through. However, even today, eating is not easy for her. I find myself having dinner with her more often than I should, just to make sure she is eating.

Then there are my own weight issues. I use to be a fat girl. At my heaviest I was close to 170 lbs. This is not in my head, I have pictures to prove it. Being fat and in a wheelchair, what a horrible combination. I lost the weight and I swore to myself I would never go back. I dare say there is no more of a euphoric feeling than having all the people look at you in wonder and tell you how good you look. And to know you look better than you did, and to know you put in the effort to improve yourself. My greatest fear is to have the tables turn. To be the subject of ridicule for letting myself go, again. To have those same people who offered me praise say what a shame it all is.

I'm having a fat day. I feel fat. I look fat. I am fat.

Fuck all the mirrors in my apartment.

Persy says...

You fat fucking cow
What the hell is wrong with you?
You're absolutelely disgusting
And you know it
But you won't fix it
How dare you make me endure this!
Again

Put the pieces back together
Like a pretty little puzzle
Make it perfect
Pronto!